Reach For Hands That Are Not There
by hopelessromantic549
Summary: You try to bite back the tears that spring to your eyes at the sight of their blond heads bobbing in unison. But you fail, like you do at most things. You’re almost used to failure by now. Almost. B/L, L/P, B/C. One-shot.


**A/N: This is just an idea that popped into my head. It's basically an insight into Brooke's thoughts and feelings. Be warned: this isn't very happy. Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is from a quote by Otomo No Yakamochi.**

Reach for Hands That Are Not There

You're a self-defined slut. You sleep with guys because you feel in control and because when light streams in through the windows you can leave. You sleep with guys because they don't ever know your name and because that way they can't break your heart. You sleep with guys because you're afraid to feel anything else.

Lucas Scott breaks that cycle, of course. You know he will. You can see it the moment he walks in that gym and quickly glances at you. There's something like hope glittering in those blue eyes of his, and you're falling before you have a chance to check how far it is to the ground. (His gaze lingers on Peyton, but you don't care.)

He cares about you and he wants you and he's new to this whole relationship thing and so are you.

And it's wonderful.

...

He laughs and you smile. (It's patented, that cheery smile of yours). He shivers beneath you as you teach him everything you know, and it's just a haze of white that slips in and out. You breathe and you break and for a moment, he's the only thing that matters. (He's the only thing that will ever matter).

You realize, though, that you should have paid more attention to the lingering gaze he cast on Peyton. Because one day you walk out of his bathroom wearing his sweatshirt and nothing else, and he's standing there looking at her with something like regret dancing in his eyes and it's all just _hurthurthurt_. Because you can tell he doesn't want you and maybe he never did.

But you ignore it.

...

And you keep on ignoring it – all the sighs and the glances and the pain – tears slipping past your defenses so often that he stops asking you what's wrong. You rue the very day he gazes at you with misplaced desire in his eyes. Because he's looking at _her_, and you're breaking.

But he's polite and never reveals anything about anything (oh, how you almost wish he would!)

And then you discover he actually _is_ cheating on you with your best friend. Oh, the irony.

What a soap opera.

...

He doesn't choose either of you, and you're glad.

He leaves soon, without even saying goodbye, and you really think he doesn't care that he broke your oh-so-fragile heart. (And he probably doesn't).

But while he's gone – for the three days or so he manages to stay away – you and Peyton almost bridge the gap he widened in only a short month. You burn the letter he leaves you (you're sure it only confesses his undying love for the blonde skank formerly known as your best friend), and you smile and you laugh and you bite back the tears threatening to ruin everything.

You're happy.

Right?

...

He comes back, and he wants to be friends with you again. You decide you won't let him, though. You've cried too much over him.

But he's Lucas Scott – with those _blueblueblue_ eyes – and it doesn't take long for him to win you over. (Peyton's faltering somewhere in the distance, broken by Jake and Nikki and cocaine and Anna, but you could care less).

So you let him be friends with you again. He gives you books of important quotes for you to read and he reassures you that you're good enough to be student council president. (You just wish you were good enough for him).

Sometimes, a wordless cry escapes your mouth when his eyes reach yours. He's not yours and you don't think you want him to be, but you wish _he _wanted to be.

But he doesn't notice the pain, and you're convinced he just doesn't care.

You're afraid to consider the possibility that he really _does_ care.

...

After a while, though, things start to change. You can feel the slight shiver in the air whenever he smiles at you.

You think he wants to be yours again now. (You won't let him).

So instead you let Felix – formerly a "friend with benefits" – become something more (try as you might, he'll never be a boyfriend to you). You've always used sex to run from love, and you won't stop now.

Things are good with Felix, for a while. You don't always feel like he's comparing you to Peyton, and you can fully commit yourself to him without much trouble. (He only has half your heart, but he doesn't need to know that).

But then you find out Felix was the one who scrawled that hateful word on Peyton's locker, and so you break up with him. You find yourself thinking that you're a much better friend than Peyton ever was. You also find yourself thinking that she ruined everything. Again.

And Peyton is all blissfulness with Jake and you're dying inside because where's _your_ knight in shining armor? (You always thought you were the one who believed in fairytales).

You _want_ him. _LucasalwaysLucas. _You really think that should be enough.

...

Things only get worse. (You're surrounded by darkness). Your parents go bankrupt and they sell your house and they tell you you're moving to California and there are tears streaming down your cheeks…

And then Lucas fixes it, as he always does. (Peyton says he's always saving her, but he rescues _you_ more than she knows). He says you should move in with him, and you agree before you can think about the sleek torso and ruffled hair you'll be seeing a lot of these days.

Lust darkens your eyes more often than not while you lurk behind that red door, but you suppress the desire because he wants Peyton (you've always known that) and you want him and when has life ever worked out right for you?

You feel like a contestant on Jeopardy who has just lost a million dollars when you realize the answer is "never."

...

You avoid talking to him, because you've never been jilted before and you're not sure how to handle it. Sure, he acts like he wants to be with you, but you can see through it. You won't let him do this to you, won't let him pretend he cares about you when really blond curls and sharp green eyes consume his thoughts (you're not tall and you don't have long legs and your smile isn't wide-mouthed and white).

Some days, you wish you were her. Especially when you find the box he's kept, a box full of mementos documenting every hopelessly precious – voice dripping with sarcasm, mind you – moment he shared with Peyton.

And then he tells you he wants to be with you again.

...

You brush past him with as much nonchalance as you can muster – you're on your way to California. (There are tears in your eyes, but that's not exactly an unusual occurrence when it comes to Lucas). He tries to call after you, but you ignore him and get in the taxi waiting for you.

You're mad at him now. He hurt you and he broke you and you _criedcriedcried_ and only now do you think he might actually understand that. (Or maybe you're just deranged and you always have been). But he kissed you and you can't handle that and you can't tell him you want to be with him, too. Even though you do.

Because you're a self-defined slut, and you refuse to fall in love again.

...

So you spend the summer kissing hot lifeguards and having sex in the backseats of cars. You take pictures to prove that he doesn't own you, and you almost convince yourself that you don't want him. (You do, of course, but you can lie – and you will).

You write him a letter every day, because you don't know how else to say it. (Any of it). You sit on the beach and write more than you've ever written (you don't keep a diary and Lit class is so beyond you). You almost enjoy it, but only because the hot sand is gritty and piercing, just like those eyes of his always are.

It's painful to love him like this, you know. But you can't stop yourself.

You've always been a glutton for punishment.

...

One night, you sleep with a lifeguard who has _blondblondblond _hair and _blueblueblue _eyes. You moan and you arch your back, because this man is worshipping your body. But somewhere in the haze of passion, you whisper Lucas' name. The guy doesn't notice, but you do. And suddenly you feel like crying.

Have you always wanted him?

The answer is yes. But it's not enough, and somewhere in the recesses of your broken heart, you can acknowledge that. Maybe you love him, even, but he doesn't love you. (He never has and he never will). You can't have your heart broken again, and being with him while knowing he's pining after some blond bitch with legs sheathed in ripped jeans would definitely kill you.

In the midst of the pain, you forget to remind yourself that that _blond bitch_ is your best friend.

...

When you come back to Tree Hill for senior year, you're all wide smiles and red lips. You've learned it's easier to fake happiness if you hide behind layers of make-up. You think Peyton sees it – the veiled hesitation in your eyes – but she says nothing. (She's still a bitch).

And Lucas…you make him agree to a non-exclusive relationship, because his promises mean nothing and you know it (even if he doesn't). He doesn't love you and you're so fucking scared of being hurt again.

And so you sleep with Chris Keller.

...

It's damn good, of course. After all, he's _Chris Keller_. And even when Lucas looks at you with disdain in those clear blue eyes of yours, you can't think of why you should apologize. You were drunk and you were celebrating and you were just a _little bit _careless. Besides, you and Lucas aren't even together. That should be justification enough.

Nonetheless, you feel guilty.

...

You don't mean to tell him you love him when you're apologizing, but tell him you do. It slips out of your mouth like alcohol slips in and you wish you could take it back. The sky is dark with clouds and you want to cry, just cry with relief and sorrow. The sun is lost.

And so are you.

But he's forgiving you now, and you're crying and you don't want him to walk away from you.

He whispers he loves you back. You want to walk away – he doesn't really love you and he shouldn't be lying – but you ignore that irritating voice in your head and kiss him.

You wonder if he's thinking about Peyton.

...

He's a wonderful boyfriend. He's caring and sweet and he tells you he loves you more times a day than is probably necessary. (You think that maybe he's trying to make up for not loving you at all). And you've missed him for so long – even now, you miss him – that everything that might be wrong just doesn't matter.

You think this isn't right, any of it, considering he doesn't really love you and you love him more than you should.

But you can't make yourself care.

...

You don't know how to help him when Jimmy Edwards kills his uncle. He won't talk to you about it – he shuts you out and he insults you – and those vibrant blue eyes of his are cold and lifeless. He cries a lot, cries and yells and kicks things (kicks you, sometimes). And you can't fix him.

You love him, always love him. But you don't know what to do.

You almost tell him to talk to Peyton – she's lost two mothers, after all – but you stop yourself. You know he should talk to someone who understands his grief, but you're not ready to let him go.

You know somehow that if he talks to Peyton he'll never really be yours again.

If he ever was.

...

You think you might really have had something beautiful.

If not for Peyton. Damn bitch ruined this blissful perfection.

And so when she tells you she still has feelings for Lucas, you slap her across her lying skank face. Because you can handle Lucas loving Peyton (you're almost used to it by now). But if Peyton loves Lucas…Lucas won't hesitate before leaving his supposed "girlfriend" in the dust.

You don't think you can handle that, so you cut her out of your life.

You almost regret it. But Lucas is yours. He's not hers. That's the way it should be.

You don't know why it feels like you're lying to yourself.

...

You break up with him at Naley's wedding. It's ironic, really. There's all this love and joy going around, and there you are, yelling at Lucas for kissing Peyton.

Again.

Except this time, there was blood and there were library shelves and there was the ache of a bullet wound. You almost forgive him, because you can see it so clearly – Peyton thinking she was going to die, laying her head on Lucas' shoulder, that adorable squint forming between his eyebrows as he tried to figure out what he was going to do. Of course Peyton kissed him. (You would have done the same thing).

But that doesn't make it right, and so you shake your head vehemently and tell Lucas it's over. There's doubt lingering in those eyes, but you know you're done.

You can feel it.

...

You're surprised he and Peyton don't immediately get together. (She's never been one to hold back). You're honestly surprised – you really and truly thought he loved her – and you're angry. After all this, he doesn't want her? God, you almost feel sorry for her.

But not quite.

...

You have to hand it to him, though. He tries to be friends with you, and you let him, because you both have to move on. You volunteer to be the first to go, of course.

_You_ set the limits here.

So you join Clean Teens after stealing the Calculus test (you almost feel guilty about it, but if Peyton and Lucas can cheat, then so can you).You party with Rachel and you date your English teacher. He breaks your heart, too, but in a different, easier way. It's more superficial and less devastating and breathing without him is effortless.

And then you start wooing Chase, because he's a born-again virgin and he's innocent and he cares about you.

It doesn't escape you that he's exactly like Lucas.

...

The two cheaters get together at the state championship, at your urging. You try to bite back the tears that spring to your eyes at the sight of their blond heads bobbing in unison. But you fail, like you do at most things. You're almost used to failure by now.

Almost.

...

You don't make an effort to be friends with Lucas _or_ Peyton. You've got Rachel, Chase, Mouth, etc. You don't need lying, betraying blond people. You never have.

Eventually, of course, things thaw a bit, and you can talk to Peyton without much trouble. Lucas is more difficult – every time you look at him you just want to scream and shake your head vehemently – but you force yourself to be cordial. (You think you owe him that much).

You realize you don't owe him anything at all, but you're more than capable of lying to yourself.

You always have been.

...

You want to apologize when that sex tape of you and Nathan from so long ago is leaked at a party the night before prom, but you're not sorry. Peyton and Nathan weren't ever that intense, that special, and you don't feel bad about sleeping with him after they broke up for the umpteenth time. She did the same thing to you (almost), and you're Brooke Davis. You don't feel guilty about things like this.

You don't feel guilty about much of anything.

Besides, she punches you. And the black eye she gives you – with the hand that you're sure was tracing circles on Lucas' skin just a few moments ago – doesn't go away.

None of the bruises ever go away.

...

The day of prom, Peyton steals your dress and Chase breaks up with you and Rachel gets expelled. Life sucks.

You throw eggs at Peyton's familiar window because you're so angry, and when she comes out you fight and you fight until you're breathless. You don't understand why she's still so furious with you, why she's clawing at your face with a hard glint in her eyes, but you know exactly why you want to kill her right now.

She's such a hypocrite, and she can't even see it.

But then she's crying, and there's a catch in her voice as she laments the end of your friendship. She sounds so bitter, and the dull ache you've managed to suppress for so long suddenly flames into real regret. This is wrong. All of it.

But you can't fix it.

...

She doesn't come to prom.

You know something is wrong.

...

When all of it is over – the screaming and the blindfolds and the slaps and the blond snarling of a psychopathic stalker – you curl up in a blanket and let her lean against you. It feels different, weird. But somehow so right.

You've missed this. Despite how much you hate her for taking Lucas from you, you've missed this.

You apologize for everything. You're not that sorry, but you and your best friend – former, future, whatever – need to reconcile, and it won't help if you deny responsibility for the rift between you. She apologizes too, and you smile and tell her everything will be all right. You feel bad about lying to her, but you think it's worth it, if only to save your friendship.

There's tangible pain in those green eyes of hers as you sit there together, as if she knows the shades of pain won't ever fade. Her smile is hesitant, faltering, and your heart breaks in a way Lucas never quite accomplished. Because Lucas was never your best friend.

And Peyton was.

...

Things are finally good again. (Besides the fact that you're afraid to take a shower alone). You and Peyton are best friends and you're on good terms with Lucas and Haley is pregnant and glowing.

Rachel's gone, and you miss her. Chase is missing, too. But everything else is okay.

Until you realize that you're leaving Tree Hill in just a few weeks.

...

Eventually you get Chase back – you always knew you would. He's different, you think. He has no hidden agenda; he only has eyes for you. You find yourself enjoying his undivided attention, even when sometimes it's all just too much.

Slowly, slowly, you're suffocating. You can't breathe when you see him, because he's everywhere and nowhere all at once. You think he loves you more than you can possibly handle. (You're afraid to admit that you're not sure the sentiment is mutual).

You can't breathe when you see _them_, either. They always look so happy, so right, and you want to cry. Because you know somehow that you and Chase will never look like that, and that you and Lucas never did.

You've wasted a year pining after the blonde, when all along you knew he wasn't right for you.

And you don't know who is.

...

Graduation sneaks up on you. One day you're cheering at a basketball game as always, the next you're donning a cap and gown. It's all flown by, and you can't make it stop. (You think you don't want to).

You say goodbye to all your closest friends, friends you're not sure you'll even miss. You kiss Peyton on her rosy cheek and promise you'll have fun together in LA. You hug Lucas and cry at the words he's written about you. You wish Nathan and Haley the best of luck with their baby boy.

And you sleep with Chase.

...

It's passionate and it's easy, you realize. It's not as sad as you expect it to be, probably because the memory of him is already weakening. You're not sure what will loom larger in your mind: this last night with Chase or the note of pain that colors Lucas' voice when he whispers farewell.

You wonder what that means.

...

You leave for LA with Peyton, and you don't look back.

But soon enough, it's all over.

Skills and Bevin break up after graduation.

You and Chase break up when you decide to make a name for yourself in New York.

Lucas and Peyton break up after he proposes to her in some misguided attempt to make long-distance work.

Haley and Nathan falter after he's thrown through a window.

And so you come home, and you make everything right again. (There's a lot of pain, but you're an expert at pain).

...

He's getting married to your best friend now, and you're honestly happy for him. You realize that you really can't begrudge him this version of a perfect future. He deserves to have a family of brooding blondes. He deserves to have someone who loves him.

Even if that someone isn't you. (And it should be you).

And so you make Peyton's wedding dress and you buy a gift for the baby shower and you fall for Julian – again – and you try to rectify the mistakes you made all those years ago. (You know you didn't make any).

But still, you wish that you and he had had a chance.

Maybe you could have been beautiful.

_fin_


End file.
